


The Heart Wants What It Wants (Dean x reader)

by revengingbarnes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, NSFW, Smut, So much smut, Swearing, the reader wants it and she doesn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:47:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25162645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revengingbarnes/pseuds/revengingbarnes
Summary: The reader knows it’s not Dean. But despite her brain screaming at her to get away, her heart is singing a whole other song.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s), Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean Winchester/You, Michael/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	The Heart Wants What It Wants (Dean x reader)

The music in the bar was all too familiar, audible over the sounds of people drinking and laughing. It struck a memory inside you, making your chest squeeze. What was the whole point of sitting alone and drinking at 11 at night when it wouldn’t even make you forget? The classic rock tune reminded you too much of him, and all you wanted was to curl up in a ball in your motel room and cry. But that’s what you had done every night for the past two weeks. You were tired of feeling helpless. Tonight, you would drink.

With that thought, you brought your second shot glass up to your lips, throwing it back in one smooth motion. You held up your hand to the bartender to signal for another, which he quickly poured for you. You watched the new liquid swirl in the little glass, the strings of a familiar Bob Seger song filling your ears. You could practically hear Dean’s voice singing along with it, and when you started to hear his laugh ring in your ears, that’s when you realized you might be a bit tipsy.

One last shot, you thought as you pushed it down your throat and stood up, giving yourself a moment to overcome the sudden wave of dizziness. A lifetime of hunting on the road and dating someone who drank alcohol like it was water had made your liver strong, so you were only mildly intoxicated. You had enough sense to know when to stop, so you pulled on your jacket and exited the bar, resigning to another night of falling asleep in your own tears.

It had been about two weeks since Lucifer died. Since Dean said yes to Michael. About a week and a half since you had been driving like a maniac around the entire country looking for him. Right now, you were somewhere in Indiana but with no success. Michael was quieter than most archangels. He didn’t leave behind clues, and if he did, they were too subtle to spot. It was exceedingly frustrating, but you were as stubborn as your boyfriend always was. You would not rest until you found Michael and ended that son of a bitch.

How exactly you would do that, you had no clue. You were still too stuck on the ‘find Dean’ part.

Dean’s last words still echoed in your mind, the panic in his voice as he screamed at Michael that they had a deal, before the archangel completely took over. As you walked in the cold air back to your motel, you heard the words echo in your brain. The wind stung your cheeks and sobered you up a bit, which wasn’t what you wanted. You wanted to get blackout _drunk_ , wasted beyond comprehension so that maybe you could forget about how your life was falling apart. How for one split second, you were so _happy_ that Lucifer was dead, before you lost the love of your life. But you couldn’t afford a killer hangover the next morning. You were on a mission, after all.

And besides, getting drunk had never dimmed your grief before. Not when Dean had died and gone to hell, not when he was blasted to Purgatory, not even when he was parading around with black eyes. The pain always remained. This time would be no different.

You threw the room keys on the side table next to the bed before sighing, shrugging your jacket off. The motel room had a strange smell, like that of unused furniture and old books. It wasn’t comforting at all. You missed the scent of gunpowder and car engine way too much to appreciate anything else. Tiredness was creeping up on you, not that it meant anything. You would sleep for about 30 minutes before another nightmare would wake you up. You would cry and tremble and spend the rest of the night tossing and turning.

You had practically memorized that routine now.

You thought about calling Sam, maybe hearing another voice would do you good. But it was nearing midnight and you didn’t want to disturb him, on the off chance that maybe he was finally getting some sleep. Sam had about 25 new people to take care of, which was partly why you left the Bunker in the first place. It was too full of strangers. You felt suffocated. But Sam had to stay back, searching for Dean from afar while you tried a more hands on approach. You missed Sam, but you refused to return without a win. You needed this too desperately.

You placed your jacket over the back of a chair, wondering if you should take a shower, when you heard it. The sound of flapping wings from right behind you. You stiffened, knowing exactly what that sound was. Angel.

What you didn’t expect was turning around to see Dean standing at the other side of the room.

You froze, body growing rigid at the sight. For what seemed like forever, silence reigned over the room. The very air felt like it was rock still, tension thick enough to cut. Your eyes jumped over Dean’s entire figure, frantically, _hungrily_ , taking him in. He was dressed in all black, a huge trench coat hiding most of him, a cap covering his head. One look at his half hidden face and you immediately knew.

“You’re not Dean.” You breathed.

Dean, _Michael_ , smiled a bit, the corners of his mouth curling up just slightly, before he nodded.

“How long did that take? Five seconds? Seven? That’s very impressive.”

The sound of his voice made your lungs still, and suddenly it was hard to breathe.

You watched him as he pulled the cap off his head, freshly trimmed hair coming into view. He had shaved recently too. He looked so…. _proper_ …it was disconcerting.

The next thing that came off was his overcoat, which he gently lay on the solitary bed in the room. Then, his eyes trained back to you.

“How are you, Y/N?” He asked, and the sound of your name on his lips nearly made you cry.

“What do you want?” You managed to bite out, but your voice trembled, immediately giving you away.

Michael smiled again, taking slow, leisurely steps towards you as he spoke. “Me? I want…. everything.”

You gritted your teeth when he slowed to a stop before you, jade green eyes dancing over your face. “But you, Y/N, what _you_ want, it’s so…. simple. So pure.”

You looked behind him, trying whatever you could to not look into his eyes. It was breaking you on the inside, looking into those eyes, the eyes that stared at you with adoration everyday, and knowing they weren’t Dean’s.

Well they were. But not really.

When you didn’t reply, Michael took a step closer so his body was mere inches from yours. Your breath caught, still as a rock when his head bent down so his lips brushed your ear. You could feel his breath, the warmth on your skin.

_Push him away. Push him away._

“You want _him_.” He spoke. His lips moved over your ear, ticking your hair, his cheek met your own. Your eye squeezed shut, heart beating a mile a minute. “You want only him, no exceptions, no conditions. You want-” You felt his hand, sliding over your side, traveling slowly behind until it rested on the small of your back. “You want all of him.”

“Stop.” You voice was too high, too pathetic, for your warning to sound genuine. Because no matter how much your brain was denying it, it was _Dean_. It felt like Dean, it smelled like him. Your body was reacting, the temperature in the room rising. His other hand trailed up your bare arm, a barely there touch, curling over your shoulder and fitting at your neck, thumb tilting your head so that your eyes met, his face a hairbreadth away from yours.

“Dean…” You whispered, tears blurring your vision. Michael tsked, resting his forehead on yours and making your eyes fall closed. He didn’t speak, and neither did you. For a full minute, it was like nothing was wrong. Dean’s scent filled your nose, his presence calming your shot nerves, his touch was all you could feel, he was all you could think. It was like all your nightmares, all your pain, just slowly melted away.

Then his lips were on yours. And you didn’t think when you kissed him back.

It was slow and chaste, a fleeting touch of his lips. Like a tease, he flitted his lips over yours gently, placing the softest of nibbles on your bottom lip.

You let out a little cry, hands reaching up almost out of instinct, holding his jaw and pulling him down, pressing your lips more firmly to his.

It was like a switch flipped, because then he deepened the kiss, hands holding your waist with a grip tight enough to leave bruises. His tongue was invading your mouth and you moaned. You had missed him so much, you had missed his touch, his kiss, his body as it moved languidly against your own.

“Dean…” You bit at his lip, breathing him in. Your hand moved over the back of his head, through his short hair, scratching at his scalp. A rumble of satisfaction erupted from his throat, hands pulling your body flush against his.

Then his lips were everywhere. Your jaw, your neck, your shoulder. Your tank top was yanked off your head, your own hands tugging at his clothes. There was no rational thought, no consequence that stopped you. It was only Dean and his touch, the touch you had craved every night for so _long_. Layer after layer was being shed, movements smooth and flowing. It came natural to you, you’d done it a million times over the last decade, even longer.

He pushed you, slowly coaxing you to move backwards, until you lay gently on the bed, his own body following. His lips didn’t leave your neck, sucking and nipping, likely leaving marks. Your eyes rolled up when his hand brushed between your legs, a low whine leaving your throat.

“Patience.” Dean- _Michael_ \- said, and your eyes snapped open. What were you _doing_?

“Dean-” Your breath caught when he lifted his head, looking up at you. His fingers were still moving, body between you and your legs spread wide around his frame. He brushed your clit slowly, a ghost of a touch that made you twitch and moan. His eyes bore into your own, eyes so familiar, so _safe_.

Then his hand was gone, but he wasn’t. Slowly, eyes not leaving your own for one second, he sunk into your warm, wet heat.

Your back arched with every inch of him that impaled you, mouth falling open. Your hands grasped at him, nails digging into his back. He was moving then, slow, torturous movements that took your breath away. Your legs spread wider, wanting more, wanting all of him, your feet linking behind his back. The angle pushed him in farther and you cried out as he hit the spot where you needed him the most.

You struggled to breathe, the pressure within you rising as you twitched and writhed, hips rising to meet his thrusts. He picked up speed, the noises of skin on skin mixing with your cries and his grunts. One hand gripped his hair, the other holding his bicep tightly.

“Baby.” He cooed in your ear, and you whined at the sound. “Come for me.”

He didn’t have to say it twice. Your back arched up, grip on him increasing as your vision swam with white, body trembling at the sensations that ran through you. He kept moving, kept chasing his own release, a low groan in your ear signaling his own finish. You panted hard, trying to chase your breath, heart beating a mile a minute as he pulled out, eyes meeting yours.

“I told you,” his voice was breathy, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek, letting his lips linger. “Your wants are _simple_.”

Then he pulled away, his warmth leaving you, his touch departing. You stared up at the ceiling, body cold and bare, unable to watch as Michael snapped his fingers, fully clothed in the next instant. He ran his hands through his now messed up hair, giving it more shape. You sat up, pulling your legs to your chest.

“Why?” You whispered, feeling tears coat your eyes.

He smiled, the same smile as the first one he gave you, a tug of his lips, amusement lingering in his eyes. He placed the cap on his head.

“Because I could.” Was his reply. Then came a flap of wings, and he was gone.

You sat on the bed, looking at your clothes lying in a heap on the floor, the messed up sheets surrounding your body, cold gripping your insides.

_What have I done?_


End file.
